SOUR CANDY | killua z. ✔

43 | mess

LIKE CLOCKWORK, Sen woke before the sun.

Without any tables to polish or mineral baths to scrub, her whole body felt syrupy. If she wanted to, she could flop back in the blankets and fall asleep again. Kotaro wasn't there to yell at her.

The blankets shifted.

Sen screamed and threw her pillow at the movement.

"Crazy woman," a familiar voice grumbled. "It's just me."

"Killua?" She hissed. "Why the fuck are you in my bed?"

"Gon was sleep-talking and the old man snores," The pillow was shoved away, revealing a tuft of white hair. "And this isn't a bed. This is a pile of blankets you put on the floor because you hate beds."

Now that she was thoroughly awake, the events of last night drifted to the forefront of her mind, one trainwreck after another.

She'd made a mad dash out of the Cemetery Building, avoiding the Troupe-mafia war only by the will of the gods. In a fit of rage, she viciously discarded her zori sandals somewhere between Main Street and 36th, completing her return trip barefoot.

Sen had showered, scarfed down a few empanadas, and collapsed into a fitful sleep. 

Now, in the hazy morning, she wanted nothing more than to banish those memories from her mind. 

And brush her teeth.

Killua sat up, his pale form entering Sen's view.

"Did you go to a party or something yesterday?" He gestured at the bed. More specifically, at the kimono she'd carelessly thrown on it.

"Or something," she grimaced. "What about you and Gon?"

They also had a horrible day. Zepile, at least, gave them some information that came in handy when tailing the Troupe members went wrong.

"So, yeah, we got kidnapped," Killua rubbed his neck. "Not that it matters anymore. Kurapika called and said most of the Troupe was killed. Did you know?"

Sen didn't. 

A headache bloomed in her temples. Sen was turning into her brother; step two would have her bedridden with a migraine and fending off nausea.

"What time is it?" Sen asked.

"Nearly five," the boy yawned. "We can sleep more before Gon comes knocking."

For once, the set of his shoulders was relaxed. 

She blamed her mother for what she was about to say. That woman really knew how to churn someone else's unwanted thoughts.

"We should break up," said Sen.

Killua rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you definitely need another hour. Lay down."

"I'm serious."

He turned to face her fully. She looked at his cheekbone, his chin, anywhere but his eyes. Icy and scrutinizing, even at the ass-crack of dawn. He was unnaturally still. Sen couldn't hear his breaths.

Killua was thirteen. Why did he have to be so intense?

"I want to play our game," he said.

"No games," Sen nestled back into the blankets, away from his piercing eyes. "I'm tired of games."

Which was something she never thought she'd say, but one night with her mother was a lifetime's worth of mind fuckery.

"Fine," Killua pointedly laid down next to her so she couldn't hide. "Give me one good reason why we should break up. Is this because of the Troupe? Is it too much?"